


Property of: Sasha Waybright

by viridiangold



Series: Sashannarcy Normal AU [2]
Category: Amphibia (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Degradation, Dominant Sasha, Edging, F/F, Girls Kissing, Multi, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, They are 17, Threesome - F/F/F, sasha exudes bde okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25951732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridiangold/pseuds/viridiangold
Summary: Anne sometimes feels like she's sold her soul and body to Sasha Waybright. Marcy likes it rough. Sasha just wants to control everything, especially her girls.The three of them are perfect together.
Relationships: Anne Boonchuy/Marcy Wu, Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright, Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright/Marcy Wu, Sasha Waybright/Marcy Wu
Series: Sashannarcy Normal AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010220
Comments: 10
Kudos: 249





	Property of: Sasha Waybright

Anne Boonchuy knows it’s fucked up. She really does, but she can’t help it. 

She gets off on emotional manipulation, being completely dominated, and feeling owned by —like an object, the property of—Sasha Waybright.

Of course, this hasn’t really been her fault, not entirely. Sasha, sharp, brilliant, witty and wary Sasha, took her under her caring wing in kindergarten, assuming the role of leader and protector immediately. Throughout the past decade or so, Anne’s just been… accidentally conditioned… to be completely reliant on Sasha, to follow her around like a lost little puppy with hearts in her eyes, to sigh in ecstasy when Sasha bestows affection on her.

Maybe it’s just her, then. 

Except it’s not. Marcy Wu, who should have been old enough not to fall for the “let’s practice kissing for when we get boyfriends” game at a sleepover at thirteen, fell under the Sasha spell even faster than Anne did. She, too, lives Sasha, breathes Sasha, moans Sasha’s name when she sleeps. They’re both in this situation, and Anne definitely feels a sort of romantic kinship with Marcy… not the devastating adoration for Sasha that soaks her underwear every day and rules her dreams every night, but a quiet understanding, a comfortable, loving, accord: Anne and Marcy would die for each other, but both would live for Sasha. 

Seventeen-year-old Sasha Waybright is really something to behold, long, toned legs dangling idly over a chair in her bedroom, aimlessly scrolling her phone, all beautiful curves and blonde hair and pale skin accentuated by a single beauty mark. Anne sneaks glances at her every time she surfaces from licking between Marcy’s thighs to breathe. There’s barely any room under the desk, and she has to take care not to bump her head, but she knows how important this is to Sasha, and how good it feels for Marcy. 

Sasha glances up and catches her eye. She immediately scowls at Anne. “Anne, sweetie, keep at it. You know how Marcy gets: a bored Marcy is an unfocused Marcy, and an unfocused Marcy means she forgets to do our homework in different handwriting and we get busted for cheating. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you, Anne?”

Anne squeaks, and buries her face into a deliciously growing wetness. Disappointing Sasha would be… the worst. Thing. Ever. Nevermind the fact that Sasha purposefully rebukes her in front of Marcy because the damn kinky genius of a girl gets off on seeing her scold Anne. As soon as she hears Sasha’s honeyed, domineering tone, Marcy squeezes her thighs together, crushing Anne’s head. The suffocating pressure sends a violent jolt of arousal straight through Anne. 

For what seems like an eternity, she keeps lapping dutifully, cleaning up each fresh gush of Marcy’s tangy slickness. Time means nothing to her when she’s pleasing the loves of her life. She can feel her own wetness starting to slide, slowly, tickling, down her inner thigh. Anne doesn’t try to touch. She knows what Sasha would do to her.

She whimpers inaudibly into Marcy’s folds when she remembers Sasha savagely hiking up her skirt under the high school bleachers last year, spanking her with a fury until she cried. She remembers the roar of the entire school above them while she whimpered and Sasha hissed into her ear, “You don’t touch Marcy. You don’t touch yourself. You don’t do  _ anything _ unless  _ I say so _ . Got it?”

She nearly comes undone, just from the memory of it, mumbling  _ Yes Sasha I understand Sasha I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours Sasha _ . A forceful hand in her hair jerks her out of her reverie.

“Let’s see how you’ve done, girls,” Sasha smirks, sitting right on Marcy’s naked lap in her pristine pink skirt. She takes a moment to tip Anne’s chin up with a perfectly manicured finger, examining the wetness glistening on the entire bottom half of Anne’s face. Anne tries, so, so, hard, to look pretty and cute and not drool. 

Evidently satisfied by the dazed look in Anne’s eyes, she smiles and lets go. Sasha shifts her weight on Marcy’s lap—Marcy wraps her safely in a hug—and balances her ankles on Anne’s shoulders. Her designer heels lock around the back of Anne’s head and drag her forward, sending her plummeting straight between those pale, perfect thighs. Of course, Sasha isn’t wearing underwear. She never does.

“Lick,” she commands, giving an assertive squeeze. Anne’s neck and shoulders and legs are cramping from crouching in the same position for literally three hours at least, but it’s all worth it for this. Somewhere above her, she hears the shuffles of paper that signal Sasha checking the work for completion and accuracy. 

When Sasha finally unravels, she barely even sighs. She makes a little  _ hm _ sound, grinds her pelvis against Anne’s face one final time, and leans back, neatly placing the papers back on her own desk. She slowly opens her legs, letting Anne crawl out from underneath the desk at long last. She disentangles herself from Marcy gently, and crosses the room to flop onto her bed.

Anne and Marcy exchange a bright-eyed look. 

“Sash… do we get to stay the night?” Marcy ventures hesitantly.

“It’s Thursday,” Sasha replies. “My parents would never let me.”

Anne and Marcy exchange a bereaved look.

“You two can sneak in through the window at two a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”

The joy Anne feels is incomparable to anything else in the world. “We’ll be there,” she says breathlessly, squeezing Marcy’s hand in excitement.

Sasha smiles. “Come kiss me goodbye for now, then,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows. 

Anne waits with bated breath for her turn while she watches Marcy’s eyes flutter closed, knees shaking slightly, savoring Sasha to the very last second. When Anne’s turn finally comes, she hovers over Sasha’s warm body breathlessly, offering her lips tentatively. Sasha surges forward and claims them, pressing the warm palm of her hand into Anne’s chest. Anne moans at the contact. Sasha kisses Anne’s breath away, tasting every corner of her mouth with quick sweeps of her tongue. When she’s done, she shoves Anne back. 

“Love you,” she smiles, with a quick flip of her ponytail. “See you both later, girlfriends.”

As Marcy opens the door and drags her through, Anne definitely feels herself cream her panties.  _ Love you. Love you. Sasha loves her.  _ Judging from the way Sasha’s gaze flicks deliberately to her crotch, she knows Sasha knows too. A blush spreads its way down Anne’s neck.

“That girl is way too powerful,” Marcy gasps as they leave the house and head down the driveway.

“I know, right,” Anne murmurs adoringly.

She spares a quick, chaste kiss on Marcy’s soft lips. “See you tonight, Mar-Mar. Try not to fall into any potholes today.”

Marcy giggles. “See you tonight, Anna-Banana. Try not to come before Sasha lets you again.”

Anne groans. That’s something she’s going to have to keep practicing.

It’s already 2:15 in the early morning when Anne struggles through a bush on Sasha’s street, cursing as a twig snaps and snags in her bushy hair. She is so, so,  _ so _ dead. In fact, she’s so dead (and dreading her punishment) that she might as well not show up at all, but that would make her even more dead. She thinks for a moment about explaining to Sasha that it’s because she had to make sure her parents were asleep so they wouldn’t be disappointed in her, but Anne can imagine what Sasha would do:  _ she’d probably grip my chin and look deep into my eyes and tell me I’m already doing so many dirty, dirty things that would disappoint them _ … 

Anne stumbles to a stop, breath catching ragged and raw in her chest as she bends over to rest her hands on her knees, gasping in front of Sasha’s darkened house. The bedroom window faces the street, and Anne squints up at it to see a warm glow emanating from it. Upon further scrutiny, she realizes that there’s a blurry, darkened silhouette moving slightly in the frame. 

Mouth dry, she approaches the house. As she gets closer, she begins to see what’s going on: Sasha has Marcy naked in front of her and pressed to the window, her mouth open and tongue flat against the glass, her breasts crushed too against the pane. From the quick, jerking motions of their bodies, Anne can tell that Sasha is wearing a strap and thrusting mercilessly into Marcy from behind, with a hand fisted into her hair to keep her in place. 

Part of Anne is terrified. They’re right up against the window, where anyone could see, really, but as she glances up and down the deserted street, Anne realizes that the view is meant only for her. She decides not to delay any longer: she easily scales the Waybright fence, leaps onto the branch of a tree, kicks off the trunk, and lands agilely on the roof before Sasha’s bedroom window. 

Sasha doesn’t even stop to let her in. Anne waits patiently on the roof, shivering in the school uniform she hastily threw on. She tries to make eye contact with Marcy, but Marcy’s eyes are glazed over and vacant in pleasure as she’s getting the fucking of a lifetime. Hot shame floods through Anne. She wishes she could be more like Marcy. Be a better girl for Sasha. 

Anne picks at her elbow, trying not to lose her balance and fall off the roof. In her head, she’s already drafting a list of apologies to say to Sasha, things she can do to make it up, punishments Sasha can inflict on her, when Sasha rolls her eyes and flicks the latch on the windowpane, an obvious signal.  _ Oh. She got tired of my awkwardness. _

Anne hisses with effort as she presses her palms flat against the window, trying to achieve the proper friction to slide it open from the outside without a ridge or handle to actually pull it to the side. It’s extra distracting because, just as the glass starts to move, Anne’s gaze drops down to the press and drag of Marcy’s stiff nipples on the cool glass. And Marcy’s near-orgasmic face is  _ right there _ , at eye level. Anne doesn’t want to make Marcy lose her balance and cause a crash—god forbid Sasha’s family actually finds out about this—but she also doesn’t want to provoke an already impatient Sasha. In the end, she settles for forcing the window wide open, catching a naked Marcy solidly in her waiting arms when a particularly hard thrust from Sasha sends her toppling out the window. 

“Took you long enough,” Sasha sniffs, voice low and heated. 

Anne opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Sasha glares at her. “And you’re not only late, but dirty too. What, did you walk through a swamp to get here?”

She picks out a leaf from Anne’s cloud of hair distastefully, flicking it away. Anne clambers gracelessly through the window, trying to hold up Marcy’s weight when Sasha slides cleanly out of her. She almost loses her balance as Marcy strains backwards, hips still seeking Sasha.

“Ah, fuck,” Anne mutters, finally steadying herself inside Sasha’s bedroom. Sasha’s eyes narrow a bit at the language. With a critical eye, she scrutinizes the rest of Anne's body, giving a smack a little harder than necessary to clear some clods of dirt off her ass. 

Anne still holds Marcy in her arms, unsure of where to put her. They're a little far from Sasha’s bed, she’s afraid to move a single muscle while Sasha is inspecting her, and Marcy is starting to get kind of heavy. But on the other hand, she does love the feeling of Marcy’s warm, naked body rubbing against hers through a single layer of clothes, the stickiness of Marcy’s thighs wrapped tight around her leg and mindlessly grinding in search of friction. 

Marcy still doesn’t say anything. Oh, she’s  _ deep _ in Sasha-space then. In fifteen minutes, probably more by now, Sasha has managed to reduce the smartest person Anne knows to a quivering mess pining for a sensual touch. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Sasha hisses. “You’re so sweaty and gross, you’re getting Marcy dirty too.”

“Marcy doesn’t seem to mind,” Anne whispers back as Marcy licks a tickling stripe up Anne’s neck, savoring the sweat her tongue finds there. Anne tips her head back and shivers. “A-ah…”

“Stop,” Sasha commands.

Anne and Marcy immediately freeze. They stay there, hardly daring to breathe, as Sasha approaches and drapes herself on Marcy’s shoulders, gently tugging her back from Anne. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up first.”

It’s a short but harrowing walk across the darkened hallway to Sasha’s bathroom. Inside, the fluorescent lighting burns neon imprints into the backs of Anne’s eyelids when she shuts them. The space is pretty small for three people, but they manage. 

Sasha lifts Marcy to the bathroom counter tenderly, stroking her hair when she makes a bleary sound of protest and reaches out for Sasha again. Consolingly, Sasha cups her cheek and murmurs, so soft that Anne can barely hear it: “You’ve been such a good girl for me, Marcy.”

Then she whips around to glare at Anne. “Strip and get in the shower already, you stupid bitch. Do I have to spell out  _ everything _ for you?”

Anne looks down in shame and mortification. “Yes, Sasha,” she says softly and demurely, tugging her skirt and underwear down. She takes off the rest of her clothes quickly and steps cautiously into the shower. 

Sasha scowls. “You better clean yourself quickly and quietly, before the water finishes heating up.”

She reaches over Anne’s shoulder to yank the handle that sends a stream of chillingly cold water sputtering straight down Anne’s back. It’s freezing, but it’s what she deserves. Anne’s shoulders convulse, and her whole body shivers involuntarily. Through the glass she can see Sasha deliberately kissing and caressing Marcy, as if showing Anne what she’s missing. 

Anne scrubs herself down dutifully and thoroughly, letting the icy water stream through her curly hair and drain it of the mud and grime it’s accumulated. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. “Sasha? What are you doing?”

Anne completely freezes in terror. Sasha doesn’t seem bothered, though. She pauses in her ministrations, tips her head to the side, and presses her cheek into Marcy’s breasts, face turned to the door. 

“Oh, just studying late, then showering late, Mom,” she says airily. “Can’t let go of my personal hygiene, obvi.”

“Oh, okay, baby. Don’t stay up for too long.”

Footsteps recede down the hallway. Anne breathes again and shuts her eyes in relief. When she opens them again, she’s not alone in the shower.

If the bathroom was a small fit, the shower is even smaller. There’s barely any room to maneuver and it certainly wasn’t built for three, which is why Anne finds herself immediately pressed against Marcy’s warm back. The water is rapidly heating, but Anne is still desperately cold, so she clutches at Marcy, buries her face in the crook of her neck, slides her numb fingers over shuddering skin to cup and caress her breasts. 

A hand gently seizes her own. Sasha envelops Anne’s fingers with hers, gently turning her palm to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her eyes are wide and soft. Anne smiles.

The shower is Sasha’s most vulnerable place. Here, the three of them are on equal footing—not just dominant Sasha, switchy Marcy, and submissive Anne, but three girls in love with each other. It’s almost surprising how quickly Sasha’s mood changes, how she melts into simple friendship, love, and affection. 

At this point, Anne has been forgiven. If not, her punishment has been placed on her running tab. Sasha doesn’t seem to care at the moment, as she laces their fingers together, throws her arm amiably around Marcy’s neck, and tiptoes to kiss Anne. Her lips are soft, and they both close their eyes under the spray of the water. 

Sasha never lets anyone else see her as less than perfect, but with Anne and Marcy, she lets her guard down. She lets herself be silly sometimes, lets her hair get wet and straggle unattractively over her face, lets herself snore (not that she can help it, actually), lets herself be herself. 

Of course, in Marcy’s frequently expressed opinion, Sasha has never been able to appear unattractive. 

_ “You’re just saying that,” Sasha always said. _

_ “I’m not! Even when you say you aren’t pretty, you are.” _

Sasha might not believe it, but Anne thinks she knows the truth: she’s never seen either of her girlfriends as anything less than perfect. Not even when she was holding Sasha’s hair back as she threw up over bad sashimi, not even when she had to pull Marcy out of a rotting compost bin, never. It’s true love. 

They fit together in a balance almost too perfect to be true. For example, there’s the whole shower arrangement: Marcy likes being in the middle because the stifling steam and ceaseless spray and inability to breathe is comforting to her. Anne likes being directly under the showerhead, a little below the stream of water, because it’s kind of like hiding in the alcove under a waterfall, which is pretty cool. And she gets to fiddle with the water temperature and settings. Sasha stays farthest away from the water because she likes getting out first and having the option to slide open the glass partition and breathe if it gets too humid inside. She never leaves her girls, but having the option of leaving is important to her. 

“You’re perfect,” Anne murmurs, pulling away tenderly from the ongoing kiss. Sasha’s eyes stay squeezed shut from the water running in rivulets down her face and neck. Her blonde hair is down from the ponytail, plastered in little curls and tangles all over her shoulders, and one strand of hair falls over her face and across Marcy’s shoulder. Anne beams as she tucks it behind Sasha’s ear. 

In the brief reprieve, Marcy turns around to properly kiss Anne, with quick licks and gentle sucks of tongue and all. Her skills have really improved since their first kiss, when she literally tried to, like, bite the outside of Anne’s lips or something.  _ Damn, _ Marcy was a clueless thirteen-year-old. And now a clueless seventeen-year-old, but one who does— _ oh,  _ that particular nip at her bottom lip makes Anne’s legs weak—amazing things with her tongue. 

Marcy begins a slow slide down Anne’s body, her tongue never ceasing its glorious contact with her skin. The wet kisses she trails are washed away immediately by the water, but Anne can still feel them lingering all over her throat, her collarbones, the undersides of her breasts. Marcy sucks lovingly, briefly (too briefly) on a nipple, provoking a hiss and a little arch of Anne’s back. What little sadness Anne felt at the temporary absence of stimulation turns to euphoria when Marcy finally kneels on the floor of the shower, delicately parts Anne’s thighs, and begins lapping gently. 

It gets even better when Sasha finally steps forward now that she has the space to do so and wraps Anne into a searing kiss. Their tongues tangle and slide over each other until Anne is so dizzy she can barely think, Marcy’s light circling around her clit is at once too much and not enough, and she doesn’t even know what sensations to focus on anymore. Two pairs of hands grope all over her body, Marcy stroking the backs of her thighs and Sasha trailing the tips of her nails up and down her spine. Shivers run all over her overstimulated body. Anne is nowhere even close to the edge yet, but this… now, this is her idea of heaven. 

Hell comes after about twenty minutes, when the hot water runs out, and they all flinch. Sasha splutters backward, hissing like a bedraggled cat, which is honestly kind of cute. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

Marcy’s already fumbling with the handle, reaching for it from her position on the floor. “Aah, my weak nerd arms,” she groans, tugging with all her meager strength. 

Anne ducks under the spray and places her hand firmly over Marcy’s, shutting it off. “I got you,” she smiles.

Sasha’s teeth chatter as she gets out of the shower, wrings her hair out, and checks her phone. “It’s almost three. Let’s go to bed.”

They scurry forth, dripping across the carpet, finally sighing in relief when they find themselves tucked into Sasha’s bed, Anne sandwiched in between protective girlfriends. The soft sheets quickly absorb the post-shower dampness, leaving only the dampness and gut-wrenching ache between Anne’s legs. She lies on her back, chest being pawed at by a possessive Marcy, Sasha’s leg thrown over her thigh. It’s not enough. She’s so turned on that it takes all of her willpower to stop herself from reaching down, grabbing Marcy’s hands, and thrusting them up herself. Sasha would totally flip if she did that, though. 

“You belong to us, Anne,” Sasha murmurs sweetly into her ear, stroking back Anne’s tangled hair from her forehead. Shivers race across her scalp and down her spine, straight to her core. 

“Y-yes, Sasha,” she whispers into the night, cheeks flushed, heart racing, staring at the ceiling. 

Anne’s favorite thing about post-shower cuddling is the softness. There’s something so very sapphic and sensual about the roaming hands, the sweet tangle of limbs and kisses and caresses, the silken smooth skin beneath her fingertips, young and supple bodies arching and moaning and grinding softly into each other. She loves the way their need for each other builds up (and they let it), the way they tease each other until they’re all mad with want, panting and sweating and writhing together for some semblance of friction. 

The sex itself is simple. They have to be quiet and discreet, so there can’t be any of the showmanship that Sasha loves, or the screaming and begging that Anne secretly craves, or the contrived scenarios that Marcy adores, but it’s still so, so good. They fumble with hands between legs—Sasha accidentally pricks Anne with her nails and elicits a pained hiss, so she delivers a quick kiss in lieu of the apology that never escapes her lips—rubbing quickly, sighing one after another into bliss. 

Then they start all over again. 

At one point, Anne knows she falls asleep, because she wakes up unable to breathe with Sasha sitting directly on her face and Marcy straddling her stomach. They’re making out without her. Sitting on her. Like she’s an object not even worth their consideration. God, that makes her want them  _ so bad _ that she trembles from it, sore and dripping. The weight of Marcy’s hips on her body, the scent of Sasha literally crushed into her nose—it spurs her into feverish subspace. 

Obediently, instinctively, she does all she can think of to do; she does what she was born to do. Anne parts her lips and begins sucking and licking, devouring Sasha with deep, long probes of her tongue. Sasha definitely notices and grinds down onto her face, smothering her completely, trapping the moan that escapes her lips. Anne loses track of time and passes out again.

When she next jolts awake, she finds Marcy’s head slumbering on her chest, her hand splayed out on Anne’s shoulder. Within a few moments, Anne realizes her reason for waking: Sasha looks up from between her legs with the hottest bedroom eyes she’s ever seen in her life—Anne nearly comes undone just from that—before she hoists herself up and practically purrs at Anne, “I was wondering how many times I’d have to edge you before you woke up. The answer seems to be three.”

The sky is beginning to lighten to a pearly grey outside Sasha’s bedroom window. It’s enough to illuminate the room, bring detail to Marcy’s fine, fluttering eyelashes, throw steely glints in Sasha’s hair. Not that Anne is paying that much attention to those lovely but trivial details, not when Sasha smirks and stretches, thrusting out her chest. Anne can’t help but stare open mouthed. Even though she’s seen it all a thousand times before, sometimes Sasha’s boobs just make her think,  _ Wow. I’m gay. _

Her neck is starting to hurt a bit from craning upwards, so she lets her head flop back down to Sasha’s pillow. Rubbing her thighs together, careful not to wake Marcy, she pleads, “Sasha…  _ please _ let me come.”

Sasha smiles cruelly. “You haven’t done anything to earn it, love.”

Anne chokes back a desperate sob. 

“Oh, Anne. It’s barely even six yet. Let me see how many more times I can edge you before we go to school.”

“Sasha…  _ please _ …”

“No, sweetheart. Now lay back and spread your legs like a good girl.”

Anne spends the next two hours clinging to Marcy for dear life, sobbing brokenly into her neck as Sasha denies her time and time again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Update: I combined the chapters, because I'm ending this fic. For those of you who may be disappointed, fret not! I will be making this a series. Sashannarcy supremacy!


End file.
